


These Are Just Flames

by artificialsleeping



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7490175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialsleeping/pseuds/artificialsleeping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don’t let go. She doesn’t know if it’s his thought or hers.</p>
<p>Collection of prompt fills from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are all drabbles/minifics written in response to prompts given to me on tumblr. If you want to send me one, you can do so at <http://artificialsleeping.tumblr.com/ask>. It doesn't have to be reylo, I'm willing to take a stab at pretty much any pairing, and I'll write genfic too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kylo and Rey duel in Ach-to which leads to a kiss.

He is changed. There is a preciseness and a vicious edge to him, so sharp that it cuts between them like glass. His bare face is like a physical blow, scarred and furrowed with the weight of things she doesn’t know, has only caught glimpses of in dreams and shared thoughts.

The storm is fitting, rain biting like wet knives against her skin and lightning forking across the sky, illuminating the sea and him. He is silhouetted in the flashes in the dark, monstrous, whorls of heavy, wet fabric surrounding his body.

Rey is knee deep in saltwater and bracing herself against the swell of it; it wants to pull her from the rocks. The light saber in her hands hisses, turning the spray to vapor. Steam, wind, water, and the furious red flare of his lightsaber; these are the colors of her nightmares, especially the ones they share.

She can feel him like fire, desperate as he advances through the waves, coming for her. Rey swings to meet him, and has to brace herself against his strength. Each strike vibrates through her, rattles her teeth.

His thoughts veer between single minded rage and a muddied swirl of want, fear, desperation. Each time she thinks she has a hold on him through the Force he slips between her fingers like smoke and then shuts her out like a slap to the face.

She has to get the higher ground. She leaps, rolls across the rocks and ignores the way they rip at her skin, coming back up just in time to deflect a spinning blow directed at her head.  
Prompt: Kylo and Rey duel in Ach-to which leads to a kiss.

He is relentless, but Rey is quick. She breaks from her defensive form after parrying a swing, whirling in a precise imitation of his own fighting style. He meets it, and when she feints to the left in what should be a surprising move, he moves with her like it is easier than breathing. They are perfect mirrors, dark and light filling the spaces of one another seamlessly.

They lock at the hilt, plasma beams connecting and their bodies coming in close, radiating blue and red, casting their faces in violet. Rey grits her teeth and screams over thunder and the crash of Ahch-To’s ocean, _“Kylo!”_

He is there in the Force, plain as day, but when she reaches out again, a last desperate effort, he rips away. Her blood runs cold as she watches him bare his teeth and ready his saber. He is going to kill her.

In a renewed onslaught, he drives her backward, frantically trying to block him, to the edge of a rock. She can feel where it drops off at her feet, can hear the water behind and below her, and when he swings again she missteps, striding back onto nothing.  
Rey feels herself begin to fall, stomach dropping and mouth opening in a gasp. As her world spins, she watches Kylo’s face go slack in surprise, then horror.

She wrenches, suddenly still as he reaches out and clutches the front of her shirt, holds her with the Force.

She is suspended for a moment, frozen, and then she feels the Force hold fall away from her as he crushes her to himself.

He kisses like he is trying to inhale her, clutching, clawing at her shoulders so that she arches towards him. There is rain water and salt in their mouths and Rey is gasping, the connection between them singing, electrified.

And then she is kissing back, hands on his face and she is racing into his head, deep enough that she is sure he’ll never be rid of her. Her feet are off the ground, body slotted against his tightly, and his grip is crushing but she tries to pulls him even closer.

“I can’t,” he snarls, parting from her for the barest of moments before bullying his way back into her mouth, tongue and teeth. _“Don’t go,”_ he groans against her lips, a loop of memories and sensation and yearning passing between them on repeat, dizzying.

Rey can’t find her voice; it’s lost somewhere between where she ends and he begins, so she kisses him, hot tears mixing with the freezing rain on her cheeks. 

_Don’t let go._ She doesn’t know if it’s his thought or hers, but it echoes and sings through her like electricity.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The rumored hut scene with plenty of UST - maybe a kiss? - that ends with Luke blowing up the hut.

She has thought of Kylo Ren, has dreamed him, has felt him in the back of her mind since Starkiller. But now he is here. He has come alone, on a small shuttle, and his weapon is not drawn. His face is bare.

They stare each other down on a bank of dark rocks; Rey’s chest is heaving with sudden adrenaline; he is here.

Her hand goes to the light saber at her belt, gripping but not drawing it. His hands are by his side, and his face - his face. Bisected by a savage scar, it is calm, wistful.

“What are you doing-” here. Her mind jumps to the moments they’ve shared, between Starkiller and now. Heated thoughts in the dark and quiet dreams. Sometimes they are on Jakku, sometimes they travel places she has never seen, places from his childhood. Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they lay together in silence, caught in the inevitability of each other, like two stars on a collision course.

“Where is he?” he asks, low, urgent.

“I’m not going to let you anywhere near him,” she retorts fiercely.

He breathes. “Let’s talk.”

She scoffs, curls her fingers tighter around the hilt at her waist.

“Just five minutes.” His jaw clenches; his eyes on her have never felt so real. The sound of the ocean is a distant, roiling thing in the background. The end of the day is casting pink and orange light on the both of them. “Just listen to me; that’s all.”

Rey straightens, her hand falling away from the light saber, and regards him with regret. She feels powerless to stop whatever it is that’s coming. So she says, “Fine.”

He breathes out, the dark silhouette of him relaxing.

“Come on.” She turns, and climbs nimbly up the rocks. There are huts above them, small alcoves of crumbling stone. Her master is not near.

He follows; she can hear the wind in his robes. All that fabric strikes her as impractical. When she glances back, he is several paces behind, impossibly tall and deceivingly calm.

The hut is dim, dingy. There is a ledge that might have been a bed once; Rey seats herself on the edge of it, tense.

Kylo Ren crouches down before her, hands steepled in front of his chest. “Rey-”

“Don’t lie to me,” the words gasp out of her before she can stop them, a desperate plea.

He watches her, brows curling over his dark eyes. “I couldn’t.”

She feels grief inflating in her chest, painfully, right below her throat. The last time she saw in person him she was ready to kill him. Now, after all this time, looking at the reality of his body and his face, something like panic infects her. How can this person, the person she has helplessly shared fears, hopes, dreams with, be her enemy?

It isn’t fair.

“Rey, I need you to listen to me.”

“I am,” the words come out furious.

“My knights are coming. We’re here for Skywalker. And I’m here for you,” the last word is breathless, like he is rushing through it, hasty.

“Why,” she grits out, face twisted in something between fear and confusion.

“We don’t have to be enemies.” He whispers, promises like a secret. “I don’t want to be. I don’t think you do, either.”

“You’re different.” Fear spikes through her, heady and frantic. She can feel her heart racing. “What’s happened to you?” At times she has caught glimpses of pain and revelation, has been shut out from anything concrete. Something in him is different, worse.

“I’ve grown more powerful, Rey,” he tells her. “I understand now. We’re even stronger together. I’ve seen it.”

“Kylo-”

“Don’t let him lead you astray.” The longing, the hope in his mutilated face is like a punch to the gut.

“You’re confused,” she whispers, and she can feel moisture in her eyes. She needs him to see sense, will feel crazy and beyond hope if he doesn’t. “You have to call them off. Please.”

He shakes his head minutely. “It’s too late. They’re coming.”

“Then we’re going to fight you,” Rey chokes out, grimacing through the emotion stuck in her throat.

His face is still, and impossibly sad. “You’re going to lose.”

Her hands go to his face before she can stop them; they are so close that she can see the wrinkle and sheen of his scarred flesh, the way it pulls at his eyes and cheek.

His gloved hands clutch hers, press them closer until her fingers are buried in his thick hair. “Rey-”

“Shut up,” she says savagely, and she doesn’t know who moves first but their foreheads are butting against each other with bruising force. “I’m not letting you do this.”

The rush and roar of ion drives sound in the distance. Rey feels tears on her cheeks, hot, eyes burning.

_“Rey!”_ Luke’s voice is far.

As one, Kylo and Rey sense the same danger just before they feel the rumble of groundfire from laser cannons. The earth beneath them vibrates.

As they dart from the hut, hands flying to their weapons, the structure erupts in light and fire.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Prince Ben Solo and Captain of the guard Rey Kenobi for the reylo prompt please :)

“Your Highness, stay close,” Rey calls after Ben’s retreating form, quickening her steps and resting a hand idly at her lightsaber. She can feel sweat bead and drip down the back of her neck; even her light armor is stifling on this planet.

“There’s no one here,” he tells her dryly, shooting her a look over his shoulder. He is out of place before the dusty ruins he has dragged them to, finely clothed and habitually regal, the edges of his robes collecting reddish dust and his once gleaming boots tarnished with it as well.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she insists, catching up to him and resisting the urge to place a hand on his arm. “You’re at risk here, we should return to your mother at once.”

His eyes roll toward the sky in familiar distaste. “She’s busy. She won’t even realize that we’re gone, Rey.” He places emphasis on her name; he always seems to want to remind her that he refuses to use her title, refuses to speak to her formally. He gives her a soft smirk and says, “If she does, I’ll tell her how adamant you were that we return. You won’t get into trouble.” Then he walks ahead, as it that’s the end of it.

As if what she’s concerned about is losing her position rather than losing him, actually getting him killed. They are tentatively at peace with this planet, but there are dissenters, those who would like to put an end to the royal family. She is not in the mood for another close call. Her prince seems to enjoy placing himself in peril just to watch her get him out of it, and it infuriates her to no end.

Rey is hyper aware of the many corners and crumbling walls she cannot see around, of the heavy silence of the ruined temple that weighs on her forebodingly. Making up her mind, she rushes forward to plant herself firmly in front of Ben Organa-Solo, draws herself up to her fullest height, and peers up at him stubbornly. She very resolutely does not look at his lips, which part slightly in surprise. Or at the way his hairline has grown slightly sweaty, making him look just a bit unkempt.

“Your Highness,” she says again, softer than she intended, “as your First Guard, I have to insist this time. You’re putting yourself in a situation that may make it difficult to protect you.”

They stare at one another for long moments, the prince’s head bracing imperiously even as he gazes at her, assessing, searching.

“Please,” she finally says, too firm to be beseeching, but it seems to mollify him.

He sighs softly, glancing up at the temple. “I only wanted to see inside,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Did you know the Sith once ruled here? Places like this were the houses of their magic users.” His voice is wistful, amazed.

Rey looks up at the towering structure and jagged silhouette where red stone has fallen away with time. She can’t say why, but it sends a spike of unease through her. She attempts to dispel it by quirking a reserved smile up at him, still holding herself rigid, at attention. “You’ve been listening to those old legends again?”

“They’re true,” he tells her, and when he looks back down at her there is a warm, secretive glint in his eyes, and the light casts him in a red glow that makes her breath catch just a little. “Most of them…” when Ben trails off, his eyes fix over her shoulder, and his expression pales into something like horror.

Alarmed, Rey whips around, falling into a defensive stance. For a frantic moment she searches wildly for whatever he had seen, until she realizes there is nothing there, just bare rock and red dirt.

“What-” she begins in exasperation, and then shrieks when something hits the back of her knees, and she is suddenly vaulted upwards, onto Ben’s shoulders. She clutches at his hair and his forehead, her lost balance nearly taking her backwards, and he sputters through choked laughter for her to, ‘be careful, that hurts!’

“Your Highness!” There’s an embarrassing squeal to her voice, anger and scandalized surprise setting her face aflame as he tilts his head back to grin up at her, wide and delighted. “Put me down,” she growls, squirming against the firm grip he has on her thighs. There’s a dizzying sensation in the pit of her stomach that sharpens and makes her gasp when his hands slide a little higher, squeezing in an effort to keep her still and secure against him.

“Call me Ben,” he demands, smile curling into a smirk, “and I’ll put you down.”

Not this again. “Your Highness,” Rey grits out, sure that she is as red as the desert. She feels painfully aware of the sweat underneath her clothing, and of Ben’s head between her legs, resting against her stomach as he looks up at her. “This is very, very unprofessional.”

“Call me Ben,” he says again, softer, expression smoothing into something more serious and his hands gentling on her. 

Rey’s hands cease their clutching in response, and she freezes when she realizes how close their faces are. She can count the freckles on his face, see small imperfections she never had before. 

“I’m getting tired of all this formality,” he murmurs, and tilts his head into one of her hands.

Rey’s fingers automatically smooth against his cheek, and their eye contact grows intensely obvious, something passing between them that she can’t name. She is breathless, and too dazed to be ashamed of it when she whispers, “Ben. Put me down.”

His answering smile is not victorious, not smug. It lights up his eyes like the sun, and Rey feels her own lips curl helplessly in return.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pregnant!Rey and daddy Ben being all nervous around her and waiting for the day.

“If you try to help me down this step one more time, I swear-”

They are on the stoop of their home, and it is early morning, and Ben’s hair is still damp and curling from his shower. The anxious turn of his expression as he hovers his hands by her elbows sends a mix of devastating love and exasperation through Rey. He is ridiculous.

His brow curls down, furrows, and he tilts his head down toward her with a smile that is both apologetic and decidedly not. “It’s a large step,” he says evenly, and he is still hovering, both of them stood in a close knit stalemate. If anything he gets closer, crowding against her enough that she can feel the heat of him and has to crane her head up to look at his face.

“I’m pregnant, not crippled.” If he were willing to spar with her she knows she could still lay him flat, even with her stomach swelling past her ribs and the persistent aching in her lower back. The one time she suggested it he had looked at her aghast, and would not stop nervously sucking his lips between his teeth for hours.

He doesn’t just help her down steps. He helps her out of chairs, steers her around pedestrians and puddles, intimidates strangers into giving her their seat. It isn’t that he was never protective before, but in the months after they discovered she was pregnant, Ben has all but treated her like a queen. There are moments when Rey soaks it up, when they are alone and she wants to bathe in the feeling and let it leave her knowing she is impossibly loved. And there are other moments that she can hardly stand it, can’t help but feel afraid for the way that he looks at her, fervent and terrified.

They are both afraid, she knows, of the responsibility before them, of making the mistakes that made them.

Ben stoops, hunching his shoulders down until he can press his forehead against hers. His eyes are all that she can see, intense and full of something wistful. “Sorry,” he whispers, and squeezes her hand.

Rey takes his other too, and brings them to her stomach. “I’m tough,” she whispers back, “and so is this one. You don’t have to worry.”

He huffs out a laugh, disbelieving and warm, and ducks his face against her neck. She reaches up automatically, her fingers carding through his damp hair. “Yes, I do,” he murmurs against her skin, the vibration setting her hair on end. “I definitely do.”


End file.
